


Geeks

by oleanderedits



Series: 30 Days of Darlenn Challenge Nov 2015 [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU (Celebrity and Fan), AU (No Zombie Apocalypse), Daryl's a closet geek, Gen, M/M, Minor Internalized Homophobia, darlenn, minor homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderedits/pseuds/oleanderedits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn Rhee is the star of a hit television show and Daryl Dixon is one of his biggest fans. </p><p>30DayOTP Prompt Challenge Day 1 (Word Count: 3200; Challenge Count: 3200)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geeks

Merle would kill him if he knew he was there. Dad would kill him if he knew he was there. Uncle Jess, too. Buck. The whole family and all their friends. Hell, even the damn waitress at _Joe's Coffee Pot,_ whatever her name was, would probably look at him funny if she knew a Dixon had headed into Atlanta for _GeekathonCon_ of all things.

But this was literally a once in a lifetime chance for Daryl. He wouldn't be able to afford to go out of state for any other appearances. And even if he could, doing so would mean all of the above found out why he was going. And that would result in him getting his faggot ass beat. Because there'd be no way they wouldn't know he was squirrely at that point. Not when the draw was Glenn Rhee, lead actor, star, and current heart throb of _Devil in the Details_. Only reason to go that far out his way for a 'chinaman' (Korean, Daryl mentally corrected in a way he wouldn't ever do aloud) was if he was interested in that ass. According to Dixon logic.

Which, unfortunately for Daryl, was accurate. He'd done his best to hide it for the last thirty-odd years. Ever since he figured it out. And he'd hidden it pretty well. But this? His not-so-healthy fan obsession? That would out him because there'd be no way he couldn't defend the man and any bad things said about him.

On the upside, none of his family knew the show. They didn't watch the Sci-Fi channel. They didn't know Glenn existed. They didn't even know the convention existed. None of that was a reality in their part of Georgia.

But in Atlanta, just for the the next three days, Daryl didn't have to worry about that. He couldn't take much back with him. Just his memories. So he was going make them count. The first and most important one was the meet and greet time he'd paid out his ass for. Blowing most of the savings his family didn't know he had on five minutes with Glenn Rhee to talk and take pictures in the relative privacy of the main floor. Sure, other guests would be watching, but they wouldn't be able to hear anything. And he didn't plan on getting a picture anyway. No souvenirs that could condemn him later.

The meet and greet happened on Saturday, third and final day that Daryl could afford to be in the city without drawing too much suspicion from the family. Which meant he had two days (well, one and a half since Thursday was a half-day) to pretend he wasn't from the backwoods in the northern mountains two hours out of the city. He had two days to pretend his 'hillybilly' look was just a costume from some obscure show. Hell, he could even carry his crossbow as long as the bolts never touched the loader and walk around with some fake blood on his face and shirt and claim he was a generic zombie apocalypse survivor. He did that on Friday, It was pretty sweet to get a Hall Costume Contest Ribbon for best costume. Of course he'd throw the ribbon out before he left. But it was still awesome.

When Saturday rolled around, he decided to go full out. Because why the hell not? He could toss the clothes before going home and no one there would know the difference. His brownest two shirts, one little better than a wife-beater (and the irony of that name for it always stuck in his craw) and the other some button up he'd cut the sleeves off years ago, were put on. The first as the more 'proper' shirt while the other was ruthlessly cut to ribbons and tied around his side like he'd been injured and had to bandage himself on the fly. Fake blood and the dirtiest looking powder/blush combos he'd gotten at a corner pharmacy were splattered all over him. Grudging him up right quick. He even loaded up on his knives (each tied into their sheaths with plastic ties so he could get around the no-live-weapons rules since they couldn't be drawn properly that way).

Looking in the mirror, he felt he was pretty good on that whole battered ZA survivor look. Though something was definitely missing. Something to really make it over the top. Maybe the way he held his bow? Daryl usually held it really firmly, but if he looked that haggard... he dropped it behind him so he had it by the very end of the stock and let the front grip drag along the carpet as he walked around. That wasn't bad. If he hunched his shoulders he could even look just a little too exhausted for his own good. That was better.

Still missing something, though. Well, he had four hours before his meet and greet to figure that out. And since he wasn't really planning on anything for the day other than that (because between the cost of it and the hotel room, he didn't have much in the way of expendable cash for other events), he went down to wander the halls. The dealer hall in particular, since it let him have a look at a lot of interesting things.

To his pleasant surprise his 'costume' got him stopped a good fifty times in the first hour with people asking to take his picture. Something that hadn't happened on Friday. He made it to the dealer hall during the second hour, surprised it had taken that long because stopping for pictures shouldn't have wasted that much time. Though it somehow had. But he got there and the press of people made it harder to stop for pictures unless folks were more on the outer edges of the room. Too many were coming and going to get much more than quick selfies or shots taken on the sly as they passed each other.

Daryl finally figured out what his costume was missing when he passed a novelty make-up and costume booth: trophies. If he was a badass ZA survivor (and today he was) he should have fucking trophies of his kills. And those fake ears he spied looked like the perfect things. Lighter than hands or feet and easier to recognize than fingers. When the booth girl spotted his interest, she saddled up to do her best selling. She also smiled at him way more than he was comfortable with, her eyes lingering on his arms. He knew that look. Same one that waitress he couldn't remember the name of would give him when he cleaned up for Sunday breakfasts.

Keeping his eyes down, Daryl quietly requested she sell him three sets of ears and then he made his way over to one of the painting booths. Got himself three bottles of paint he could mix and turn into a soupy grey-green mess, and spent twenty minutes sitting and letting the ears dry out. Getting a string for them wasn't hard. A lot of people had twine around for their display booths. With them around his neck, he looked pretty damn good. Competent at killing zombies despite the exhaustion.

He took to wandering the edges of the hall for the rest of the time he had left to spare. He got another costume contest ribbon. And that ribbon was added onto by a few more hall-judges. He wasn't anywhere near the best out there, but he cut a memorable figure for how simple his look was. More people asked for his picture and a few groups of zombies even asked for him to pose pretending to kill them. Those were a lot of fun.

Daryl got to use the fake knives and bats and hammers and even a crowbar that other guests had brought for some faux action shots. He also got to use his crossbow because half of the people requested that. After a larger group of zombies posed with half of their number 'dead' at his feet and the other half coming for him while he was in the middle of 'loading', he started to get requests for kill shots of other people. A Batman and a Deadpool wanted poses with him squaring off against them. Another zombie survivor group wanted a team-up back-to-back shot. By the time he had to get going, Daryl felt like a star in his own right. And he had to admit he liked the attention. There was a bit of euphoric high going on as he (genuinely) sadly had to break off the next picture requests.

He wasn't the first in line for the limited meet and greets for Glenn Rhee. The two hour time block had twenty five-minute sessions and then there'd be picture signing and general meets for another two hours after that. The show's panel had been that morning. Daryl would have liked to go, but again, he didn't have the money. He still knew the schedule by heart.

Daryl's time slot was the fourth from last. Far enough in that Glenn was starting to look pretty exhausted despite efforts not to. He was still very kind and friendly to woman in front of Daryl. But it was obvious the pace of the day was getting to him. His smile was more forced than real and it was obvious, to Daryl anyway, that he was trying not to yawn throughout. The woman up there didn't deserve that and Glenn was a good enough guy not to let it happen.

As she left and Glenn was given a minute or to rest and chat with his handler while the sitting area was checked over and 'reset', Daryl grew nervous. Butterflies in his stomach, lightheadedness, the whole nine yards. He barely managed to get his feet moving when he was told he could approach. Particularly because it hadn't escaped his notice that he was the only guy in line for the 'private' meet and greets.

He kept his head down and dragged his crossbow behind him, but he was watching Glenn. The man sat up on his approach, brown eyes widening and a perfect grin stretching his lips. Daryl assumed he must really look the part when mostly it was his own trepidation about being there. He stopped just behind the guest chair and brought the thumb of his freehand up to his mouth to chew on it for a moment.

Glenn broke the silence that was stretching between them with a light laugh and a wave at the chair, “If you're worried about getting make up on it, don't. They'll bring out another one for the next guest once you're gone.”

Glad the make-up he was wearing would hide the heat he could feel in his cheeks, Daryl slowly made his way around and sat down. It was all of eight inches to travel and it took him what felt like a minute to do it. Wasting his own time with his nerves. Feeling entirely too shy. He thought he could do this. He really did. Daryl hunched in on himself and continued to chew at his thumb, not sure what to do now that he was there. All the words he'd practiced had long since flown out of his head and he was stuck with a thundering heart and shaky breaths.

Glenn must have picked up on it. Because he leaned over and tilted his head to try and look at Daryl face to face despite how low Daryl's head was hanging. He was smiling, bright and real and no longer looking so tired. There was still some exhaustion, but he was far more alert now. He waved his fingers and Daryl looked up, meeting his eyes automatically. And Glenn beamed at him. Fucking beamed, like the sun had come out. “Hi.”

Daryl grunted and looked back down, pretty sure his ears were bright red. When he finally manged to get his voice, it was barely there, “Hi.”

Glenn laughed and Daryl felt both a flush of shame and one of excitement. Because Glenn was laughing at him, but he was also laughing because of him. And he was pretty sure it wasn't meant to be mean. But it was also hard to get himself to do something or say something. He was wasting so much time that he had spent so much money on. He just couldn't get himself to say anything.

“What's your name?” Glenn asked, resting his hand on his chin and apparently realizing he'd have to lead the conversation if there was to be any. Daryl could deal with that a little better.

“Daryl,” he murmured, gulping. “Daryl Dixon.”

“Your costume is pretty awesome,” Glenn's eyes swept over him and Daryl felt his own mouth stretch into a grin as he dropped his thumb so he could play with the strap of his crossbow.

He gave something close to a shrug and shook his head, “Nah. It's not that great.”

“No, it is!” Glenn's voice rose slightly in excitement. Encouraging. “Really. You look awesome. Zombie killer, right? The ears are a nice touch. And the crossbow. Is it real?”

“Yeah,” he answered, shaking his head a little too much.

Glenn gestured at it, “Can I hold it?”

Daryl glanced up at him again, meeting his eyes before he nodded slowly and stood. He held the bow up, stock to Glenn so he could take it properly, “You hold it kind of like a rifle. Uh, trigger arm here and other over here.” Daryl didn't try to touch him, though the temptation was certainly there. He just pointed to the spots as Glenn held it up and aimed it around with a laugh.

He lowered it and took a few moments to study it before asking, “How do you load it?”

“Oh, that's easy,” Daryl scoffed, relaxing just a little as he took it back and set it on the ground. One foot stuck through the handle to hold it in place while he grabbed the string with both hands and pulled it back with one firm tug. On auto-pilot he reached for a bolt to load it in place. Half-way there, he remembered himself and stopped, just kind of waving the shaft at the loader, “Then you stick this there, lift, aim, flick the safety, and fire.”

When he looked back at Glenn, he shrugged and held the bow up with one hand, leaning back a little to balance his weight as came naturally, “Nothin' to it.”

Glenn laughed again, “Cool. I'm guessing you didn't fly in to the con?”

“Nah,” Daryl answered, finally feeling more like himself. “I ain't live in the city, but I live close enough to drive. And-”

“Mr. Rhee?” Glenn's handler cut him off as she came up, trying to be polite. “Five minutes is up.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Glenn nodded to her with a wave. He turned back to Daryl and rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry.”

The ease Daryl had felt disappeared and he was back to embarrassment. He'd wasted most of those five minutes sitting there like an idiot. It was his own fault. He shrugged, murmuring, “S'okay. Thanks for uh... you know... talkin'.”

“No problem,” he answered and glanced around, “So do you have someone here to take a picture? If not, Ashley could do it.” Glenn gestured at his handler, who was waiting expectantly.

Daryl shook his head, “Not getting a picture.”

The answer took Glenn by surprise. That didn't really happen anymore. Especially since part of the cost of the meet and greet included a selfie with the man. “You sure?”

Daryl shrugged again and put his bolt away before pulling the trigger of his bow to release the string, “Didn't bring anything to.”

“Then let me get you a print,” Glenn said, turning around and jogging to the general meet and greet table set up a few feet away. He grabbed one of his prints and a pen and quickly signed it. Then he rolled it up and stuck it in a bag one of the assistants brought over. When he got back to Daryl, he held it out, “You paid for the time and a picture.”

“Didn't pay for a signature,” he murmured with a shy smile, taking the offered poster anyway.

Glenn shrugged, “Habit. Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Thanks for letting me,” Daryl replied. He lingered a moment more before he dropped his bow behind him and wandered off at the urging of Glenn's handler. The next paid guest moved up to take a seat with Glenn and he greeted her with the hug she went in for.

Daryl headed straight back to his room, shaking off picture requests. He was tired and it would be a long drive back to home once he got himself cleaned up. A long, sad drive. Because he wasn't going to be able to take that picture with him.

He got himself undressed and showered quickly enough. His ruined clothes and the ears he'd bought were dropped in the trash without a second glance. Evidence that would be easily destroyed when the maid came to clean the next day. The zip-ties were cut off his knives and those were packed up safely in the small gym bag he'd brought his things in. Really, he'd brought so little with him that he was done getting ready to high-tail it out of the city in under an hour.

The only thing left to destroy was that signed picture.

Daryl sat on his bed and pulled it out. He fingered the edges for a long time, debating with himself if he should even look at it. It was probably one of those generic promo shots he'd seen a thousand times. But it had his signature on it. And it might even have a 'To Daryl' or 'Nice crossbow' on it. Something to personalize it. Something to make it his and only his even if it got destroyed.

He couldn't take it home with him, but like the meet and greet, he could still take home the memory. Even if it was just his signature. Just his name. He'd remember that Glenn had done it for him. So he had something to take back when he hadn't brought anything of his own.

He unrolled it and sure enough, it was one of those promo shots. The one for the most recent season, with Glenn staring upward into the distance, mouth open and eyes wide with fear. Desperate and dirty, like the end of the world was upon him and there was nothing more he could do to stop it. It was both evocative of the current story arc and sexy as hell.

Daryl let his fingers trace down that face to the open mouth, grinning to himself. That mouth had been so close to him barely an hour past. Smiling for him. Laughing with him.

He dropped his eyes to the scrawled writing and his brows pulled tight in confusion. There was no signature. Daryl didn't even pay attention to what was written because the signature he'd memorized from seeing it plastered on a hundred posters and promotions wasn't there. The bastard hadn't signed it. He'd just-

_Party at 11. Hotel Grand. Rm 442. Bring the bow._

 


End file.
